What She Needs
by LumosLyra
Summary: A series of encounters in which Percy Weasley finds Hermione Granger kneeling on the floor.


He found her kneeling in a corner.

She looked utterly perfect there with curls cascading down her back, hands placed lightly on her thighs while she faced the corner. A pile of books was scattered around her and a piece of crumpled parchment lay nearby. Under normal circumstances, he would have found the sight completely arousing except for the fact that soft sobs appeared to be wracking her body. Normally, a bit of crying didn't bother him – he'd seen women cry within the throes of passion and had even been the cause of their overstimulated tears, but not knowing the cause of hers, he found himself distinctly unsettled by the witch kneeling in the corner.

He hadn't intended to come across the sight he did and had only stopped by Grimmauld Place to borrow a book from the library which seemed to be on hold every time he attempted to acquire it from the London Wizarding Library.

He knew he could help her if she would divulge the source of the tears and even if she didn't, he was adept enough at taking care of witches from other circumstances that he felt confident in his abilities to be there for her in her hour of need.

Crossing the room with quick, quiet strides, he crouched near her and pressed a firm hand against her back. She barely seemed to register his touch, though he noted her tears seemed to come more quickly as they cascaded down her cheeks and dropped onto her hands and thighs – a few droplets rolling down to settle on the hardwood floor.

He conjured himself a small stool and perched there, guiding her head to rest against his thigh as he gently pulled his fingers through her hair in an attempted to soothe her. She was still on her knees though her hands had moved to wrap around his leg as she released torrent after torrent of tears. After an interminable amount of time, the tears seemed to slow and her breathing evened. Were he able to see her face, he knew it would be flushed and covered in salty tears and very likely snot. It didn't phase him in the least. He wiped a few tears from her cheeks with his fingers and heard her sniffle. They were through the worst of it now.

Summoning a piece of parchment from the nearby desk, he transfigured it into a handkerchief and gently ran it around her cheeks and under her eyes. She took it from him and blew her nose before he banished it to the bin in another corner of the room.

"Tell me what's happened, Hermione," his tone brooked no room for argument but it remained gentle. He felt her hands tighten around his leg and she shook her head. He knew this would be difficult for her, but it was important. She needed the release and while the tears had certainly helped, talking it out would only contribute to her healing – even if it was difficult.

"It won't do to hold it in, sweetheart," he said, one of his hands reaching down to cup her cheek while the other continued to slip through her curls. He'd never been one to throw around terms of endearment and he'd certainly never used them with the witch at his feet before, but he knew what she needed. She needed to feel safe, loved, and cared for and he would do whatever was within his power to make her feel that way.

She shuddered out a heaving breath but she managed to say two words, "it's hopeless."

"What's hopeless, pet?" he asked, rubbing his thumb along her cheek.

"My parents."

He felt her shudder against him but no more tears were released as her head sank once more against his thigh. Everything clicked into place. He glanced at the books on the ground, _Obliviation and You, The Art of Memory Restoration, Magical Memory Morphology_. The crumpled parchment on the ground bore the seal of St. Mungo's. In that instant he knew that Hermione's parents would not be regaining the memories she took from them for her own safety.

"Oh, sweetheart," he crooned before standing up from the small, conjured stool. He helped the witch to her feet before he swept her feet out from under her, cradling her against his chest as he crossed the short space to the leather sofa in the library. She buried her face in his neck and her arms were pulled protectively against her chest as he stroked her back and murmured soothing words of comfort.

….

It had been probably six months since that day in the library; since she received the news from the memory care team at St. Mungo's that her parents would remain Monica and Wendell Wilkins forever. They would never again be Richard and Helen Granger – they would never remember they had a daughter. It had taken several months for her to come to terms with the news, though she fully attributed her ability to function those first few days to the care and attentions of Percy Weasley.

Ron and Harry, bless them, had no idea how to react when they'd been made aware of the news. They didn't know how to do anything other than pat Hermione awkwardly on the back and look at her with pitying glares. Despite going through the entire turmoil of a war and losing several friends, providing comfort in the face of a situation like hers seemed foreign to the pair. They tried, Merlin love them, but it didn't do much to help shake her out of the depression she found herself in.

Percy, who happened to have taken a week off of work for a bit of private research, dropped by Grimmauld Place daily. He made sure she ate. He insisted she get some sunshine – even if it was only sitting in the garden or walking a few doors down to the pastry shop. He stopped her from drowning her sorrows in a bottle of firewhiskey and instead insisted she drink pumpkin or fruit juices when he wasn't presenting her with glasses of water. He drew her a bath each day, filled it with calming herbs, and refused to leave until she at least entered the bathroom. He held her when he found her crying and made her talk about how she was feeling – always uttering the same words, "it won't do to hold it in, sweetheart."

She had always been the strong one. Always taking care of others that she didn't know how to take care of herself. Percy ensured she was taken care of it and that, in and of itself, ensured she was set on the path to healing. She continued to grieve for several months over the loss of her parents but had it not been for his attentions in those first few days, she would probably be a miserable, emaciated drunk right now. Well, that might be a bit of an overstatement, but she certainly would not have felt as okay as she did at this moment in time.

She rarely saw him after that first week – his position within the Ministry required extensive traveling across Europe and occasionally to other continents. He was present at the occasional Sunday dinner at the Burrow and he always made it a point to pull her aside and ask how she was doing. While she told him, truthfully, how she was he rubbed gentle circles with his thumb along her pulse point. Once he seemed assured that she was still on the path to healing, he would step back and rejoin the whatever was happening that day at the Burrow.

The last time she had seen him had been nearly two months ago. There was something in his eyes as he spoke to her that she couldn't quite place. He grasped her wrist a little tighter than normal as she prattled on about what was happening in the Department for the Regulation and Control for Magical Creatures and for some reason, she finished her story in two more sentences somehow knowing he was displeased she had spoken on such an inane subject for too long. He'd never changed his facial expression nor indicated anything less than interest but that squeeze to her wrist was as clear as any verbal command. He smiled at her after she stopped and changed the subject.

She saw that smile in her dreams.

….

This time, he found her kneeling in front of a bookshelf.

England was experiencing a heatwave and the silly witch had apparently forgotten she was indeed a witch. The library was stifling, even though the windows were open. Her curls were piled high on her head and her skin was covered in a light sheen of sweat. She was wearing a tiny pair of shorts and a tank top that clung to her curves and gave him the most delicious view of a sliver of skin at her lower back. A glass of lemonade rested near her bare feet, condensation rolling down the glass.

He stood in the doorway and simply admired the sight as she gingerly cleaned and reshelved book after book, oblivious to his presence. For the more fragile tomes, she wiped them with a dry cloth being careful not to tear the fragile binding or injure any of the pages. Her attention to detail was appreciated. She was careful, methodical, and thorough.

There was no denying his attraction for the witch. He'd found her attractive when she'd been sobbing against his thigh some six months ago and even before that. It was clear that his brother and her best friend had no idea how to comfort the little witch. He was infinitely thankful he'd taken a week off of work so someone could be there for her. She needed someone like him – someone who could take the reins when life became too much. Someone who could calm her down and reassure her. Someone who knew how to make another person feel safe.

Her needs appeared to coincide with his desires and if there was one thing Percy Weasley wanted, it was this witch.

His little game the last time he'd seen her had been proof enough of that and nothing remotely sexual had occurred between them. She was discussing recently policy changes within the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and he simply squeezed her wrist with a bit more force than normal. She responded with a blush on her cheeks and finished her story within no more than two sentences, easily responding to his silent command. When he smiled at her in a silent form of praise, she'd blushed a darker shade of red and averted her eyes submissively. He doubted she even realized the impact of the small display of submission, but he hadn't missed a single one of her reactions. Knowing his own proclivities, he had learned to watch the way a woman reacted with care.

She had such potential.

After another moment of gazing upon the brown-eyed beauty without her knowledge, he decided to make his presence known. He cleared his throat.

Predictably, she jumped and whipped her head around. "Oh, hello!" she greeted him with a cheerful smile, "what brings you by today?"

As much as he desperately wanted to tell her that she was reason he was here, he remained silent on the matter and merely offered her a small smile as he pulled the book he'd borrowed months ago from a pocket within his coat.

"Just returning this."

She stood up from where she had been kneeling on the floor and for the first time, he got a full view for how tiny her shorts were – they left nothing to the imagination from the roundness of her thighs to the smallness of her waist. The tank top she wore showed off her arms and had risen a bit to allow him a peek of her flat, tanned stomach. If he weren't practiced in maintaining his self-control he likely would have pounced on the witch.

Her fingertips brushed his as she took the book into her hands presumably to return it to the shelf. "I don't see how you're dressed as you are. I feel as though I'm about to melt," she admitted with a laugh before turning around and reshelving the book – her perfect arse on display. The image of her tethered to the bookshelf as he pounded into her from behind flickered through his mind.

He chuckled, quickly adjusting his trousers to hide his erection and lifted his wand, whispering the incantation of a simple cooling charm. She sighed visibly in relief as goosebumps rose over her arms and her nipples hardened beneath the thin fabric of her shirt. He _may_ have cast a stronger cooling charm than needed… but the witch didn't seem to mind and he reaped the benefits.

She blushed, "For some reason, I always forget about heating and cooling charms. Some brightest witch of her age, I am."

"You simply didn't grow up with them is all," he reminded her.

As she picked her lemonade up off of the floor, a drop of condensation slipped down the glass and fell against her skin. He watched as that single droplet of water disappeared under her shirt. He was broken from his reverie by the sound of her voice.

"How is Audrey?"

Ah. His former girlfriend. Of course, the little witch would remember he was in a relationship. She was a lovely witch but they wanted different things out of life and had ended their relationship amicably sometime around the last time he encountered Hermione at the Burrow.

"Well, as far as I am aware. We've not spoken in about a month – our separation, however, was amicable. We parted on good terms."

She drew her finger up and down the condensation of the glass, clearly mulling something over in her mind. He could practically see the wheels turning – her eyes took on a distant look and her face gained a slight tension in the areas around her lips and eyes. She finally snapped her eyes back to his after a moment.

"I'm glad to hear it, that you parted on good terms, I mean."

He idly wondered what would happen if he charged across the room and kissed her. He didn't want to scare her away but he was desperate for the feel of his lips against his own. He wanted to hear her moans as he tugged on her curls and admire the bruises he'd leave on her hips as he crushed her against him. He could only imagine how her bottom would look turned red from his hand or another implement – not to mention how her face would look as he brought her to the brink and denied her release, only to grant it moments later. He was certain it would be magnificent.

"Thank you," he replied, simply before checking his pocket watch. "Will you be at brunch on Sunday?"

She nodded, "I will." He could see that her fingers were clutching at the glass of lemonade and her thighs were pressed together. Clearly the suit he'd chosen today was doing it's intended job. He'd not been shy about hiding his appreciation of her body and he was certain she'd noticed when his eyes traced that drop of condensation as it rolled down her skin.

If there was one word that could describe Percy Weasley, it was patient.

"Then I will see you then, little witch," and with that, he turned and swept from the room.

….

After he left the room, Hermione collapsed onto the sofa – barely managing to not spill her lemonade. Her skin felt flushed, there was an ache in her lower abdomen, and her nipples were painfully hard beneath her bra. She fanned herself with little relief. She wasn't even certain a cooling charm would help at this point.

The sexual tension between them in the room had been palpable. She'd caught his eyes on her several times throughout their brief encounter. There was an appreciative glint in his eye though his posture was the epitome of nonchalance. The dark suit he was wearing fit him like a glove and had clearly been tailored to do so. His auburn hair was, of course, coiffed to perfection – short on the sides and longer on the top and perfectly styled. He looked ready to conquer the world, no less conquer her body.

She hadn't expected he would drop by today so her wardrobe choice was complete coincidence. It was beastly hot indoors and out and she knew she needed to get the library catalogued and cleaned while she still had time to do so. Harry and Ron certainly wouldn't do it so that left it up to her. She wasn't usually one to dress so immodestly but desperate times called for desperate measures and the heatwave Britain was currently experiencing seemed to call for the least amount of clothing possible.

He certainly seemed to appreciate it.

She wanted him, but had no idea how to ensnare him. What did men like Percy Weasley even like? She'd met Audrey a handful of times and honestly thought the pair of them might marry at some point, but according to him, they wanted different things in life – whatever that was supposed to mean. He had been so gentle and patient with her when she was grieving for her parents – he took care of her which wasn't something she was used to. Would he be that way in bed? Gentle, caring, patient? With the way he had been looking at her she half expected he might slam her back against the bookshelves and fuck her against them until neither of them could stand.

While her sexual experience wasn't limited, it wasn't extensive either. She and Ron had sex pretty early on in their relationship before they realized the spark wasn't there. They were better off as friends. She'd dated Terry Boot for a few months but he was always so timid in the bedroom – always wanting her to take charge and while she enjoyed taking on that role occasionally, she simply wanted to let go. After Terry, she'd briefly dated Cormac McLaggan and his idea of a bedroom romp was a quickie where he basically sought his own pleasure. They lasted maybe two weeks at most.

Still, she hadn't found what she was looking for – romantically or sexually. There were times when Percy spoke to her that his tone brooked no room for argument. He was confident and demanding but also somehow made her feel safe. He had a way about him that made her want to confess her sins and she knew he wouldn't hold whatever she said against her. He made her want to let go, but she didn't know if he would take that control. He certainly seemed capable but it was nearly impossible to tell with him. He was always so cool and composed these days. His confidence had skyrocketed after his promotion to the Department of International Magical Cooperation. It was like he found himself whilst travelling the globe for his job.

She didn't quite know what to make of him – but she wanted to know more.

….

She was kneeling again.

This time, her head was buried in one of the cabinets in the kitchen at the Burrow. His mother had apparently tried to summon some cooking implement but it got stuck amongst the other items in the cupboard.

Shortly after he greeted his mother with a kiss to her cheek, the witch on the floor pulled herself out of the cupboard with a roasting pan in her hands and a triumphant smile donning her lips. That smile turned shy as she passed the roasting pan to him and he in turn passed it to his mother. The white sundress she was wearing fanned out around her on the floor which made her look the very picture of innocence.

He offered her his hand and she rose with an inordinate amount of feline grace. "It's good to see you again," she said, tucking a curl behind her ear.

He caught the faintest hint of a blush on her cheeks as she turned toward the counter and began finishing a task which she had apparently been engaged in before he'd entered the room. His mother was bustling around behind them preparing the Sunday roast. As she carefully chopped carrots by hand, he placed his hand against the small of her back and leaned close to her, his lips nearly grazing her ear.

"And you, pet. How have you been?"

He knew the shiver which jolted down her back was from the feel of his breath ghosting against the shell of her ear and he couldn't help but smile.

"As well as can be expected," she said, as she attempted to concentrate on the carrots in front of her. Her cuts were becoming a bit more erratic and the vegetable was no longer being divided into uniform rounds. He chuckled low and dark against her ear as he heard his mother leave the kitchen, presumably to engage the rest of the family in the task of setting up for brunch.

"I can make you feel better, sweetheart. Let me give you what you need."

She spun around, presumably with a retort on the tip of her tongue, and he was soon met with her chocolate brown eyes, his hand drifting to her hip. He watched as her eyes flicked back and forth from his own to his lips and he knew he had her.

"Percy…" the way her voice sounded when she breathed his name was like a prayer – all breathy, light, and reverent. His grip tightened on her hip as he leaned closer and brushed his lips against hers – something he had been wanting to do for ages.

She wouldn't stand for his softness and he soon found his arms full of witch which only fueled his desire. Her delicate fingers grazed his neck as her arms pulled him closer. He brushed the carrots she had been chopping to the side and lifted her with ease onto the counter. His hands found her wrists, disentangling her arms from around his neck and he soon had her pinned down, within his control as he kissed her. She keened within his embrace as he pulled away from her, trailing his lips along her jaw in opened mouth kisses.

"Are you certain you want to play this game, Hermione?" he asked, his teeth nipping at her earlobe, his hands gripping her wrists and pinning them behind her back. He grasped them within one of his larger hands and trailed his other along the curve of her neck.

She nodded fervently and he chuckled. "No, no pet, that will not do."

She shivered as his eyes bore down on her. Her skin was flushed, her lips bee stung, and her beautiful eyes were hidden by thick lashes. "Please…" she breathed.

"Good girl," he praised, dropping a kiss to her curls. His free hand caressed her curves through her sundress before settling on her thigh. Her head fell back and she released a breath as his fingertips grazed the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, just below her center. She parted her legs as if begging him to touch her. He knew if he had the time, he could make her fall apart over and over again here in his mother's kitchen.

With a smirk, he nipped at her neck and brushed his knuckle against her center, eliciting a moan from the witch. If she would open her eyes and look at him, he knew they would be darkened with her lust. She wanted this as much as he did. Releasing her wrists from his hold, he slipped his other hand along her thigh to remove her knickers, leaving her bared to him, though she was still covered by her skirts. A finger dipped into her center eliciting a beautiful moan as he stroked her walls with practiced ease. Before gingerly removing her from his mother's counter and setting the carrots to rights, he slipped her knickers into his pocket and pressed his lips to her forehead.

He didn't miss the mortified look on Hermione's face as his mother bustled back into the kitchen with urgency. Her cheeks were flushed and she had finally opened her eyes, her chocolate brown orbs staring at him in incredulity.

With a smirk, he slipped a finger in his mouth and sucked her juices from it. "Delicious," he remarked, savoring the taste of the witch before him as he gazed directly into her eyes, watching her reaction. He could nearly see her pulse fluttering. He wondered if the blush on her cheeks extended down her chest – he suspected it did.

"Oh you dear boy," his mother said with a grin as she patted him on the cheek, assuming he was speaking about the gravy in the pan he was standing near. "Hermione, have you finished those carrots?" she asked, turning to the witch.

"A-almost, Mrs. Weasley…" Hermione sounded thoroughly flustered as she turned from him and made quick work of the carrots his mother had her chopping.

"Percy, be a love and go help your brothers," his mother said, effectively shooing him from the kitchen.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers where Hermione's knickers rested and bid the witch farewell before slipping out of the kitchen to do whatever it was his brothers supposedly needed assistance with.

….

Hermione could barely concentrate at brunch. He wasn't even seated near her and she could feel a sticky, wetness coating her thighs which only seemed to worsen as he glanced in her direction. Merlin forbid he ask her a question or make small talk across the table. If she still had her knickers, she knew they would be completely soaked through.

The few moments they spent alone in the kitchen was one of the most erotic of her entire life. She'd experienced more sensations in those few moments than she had in the past several years. He'd managed to reduce to a quivering, begging mess in a matter of moments and she'd loved every minute of it.

She stayed quiet throughout brunch, carefully watching his mannerisms and making enough comments here and there so no one would suspect anything was off. He was as equally confident as Bill as they discussed a new law impacting the goblins of Gringotts. He carried himself with a practiced ease and effectively argued his points. When his father joined their conversation, he was gracious and deferred to the expertise of the older man in the realm of muggle artifacts as they were impacted by the law as well. There was nothing in his demeanor that gave away what he was capable of in the bedroom (or in a few stolen moments in the kitchen).

It was a brilliant mask he wore and she couldn't help thinking he would have made an admirable Slytherin. Perhaps he was sorted into Gryffindor on tradition alone, though she wouldn't put it past him to argue with the hat to place him in the home of his family.

She wondered exactly what he was capable of in and out of the bedroom. She knew from their interactions over the years he was studious and intelligent. They'd had many heated arguments while his brothers and Harry rolled their eyes at their impassioned speeches. There was a time when he was estranged from his family – his drive to better himself seemingly getting in the way of his family loyalty but the fences had been mended in the years since the war. She wasn't certain where this newfound confidence came from, but she'd seem him grown into over the past several years.

Had it not been for his actions over the past six months or so, she still would have been intrigued by the man. It certainly didn't hurt that she found him attractive.

Following brunch, the large family and several friends adjourned to the orchards behind the Burrow for a game of pick-up quidditch. The children in the family ran through the meadow, playing and bouncing along while several of the adults flew overhead, tossing a quaffle back and forth.

Hermione had situated herself on a blanket under one of the large trees at the edge of the meadow, her nose buried in a book, though she occasionally found herself watching the game before her. A figure dropped down onto the blanket next to her and she immediately knew it was him. He gingerly marked her page with the bookmark lying nearby and took the book out of her hands, setting it aside.

She brushed her curls out of her face and shyly looked towards him, knowing he still had her knickers in his pocket. "Hi…"

He intertwined their fingers and feathered his lips against her knuckles, "Hello. I think we need to talk."

Hermione nodded, unsure of what to say.

"I think you know by now, Hermione, that I don't do anything without reason. When I saw you all those months ago, kneeling on the floor and grieving for your parents, I was instantly drawn to you. I wanted to comfort you and give you what you needed at the time."

He was watching her carefully as he spoke, his thumb tracing gentle circles over the back of her palm. "I'm so grateful you were there for me that day," Hermione said, quietly.

When she averted her eyes in shyness, Percy guided her eyes back to his with a finger beneath her chin. "Keep your eyes on me, pet." He couldn't help the smile that rose to his lips as the apples of her cheeks colored, though she did as he asked.

"And then a few months later, when saw you in the library at Grimmauld Place, I knew that I wanted you – all of you." He leaned forward and pressed his lips against her forehead in a moment of tenderness. He wanted the entirety of the witch in front of him. He wanted her on her worst days and on her best. He wanted to come home to her at the end of the day, tease her relentlessly, make her smile, and do so many things to her delectable body.

"Why me?" she asked, her voice timid, though she kept her eyes trained on him. While he knew she was confident in her intelligence, he also knew from overheard conversations with various members of his family, that she was not confident in her appearance. He loved her wild curls, pouty lips, and the freckles that dotted her nose and cheeks. She was lovely and he wanted to strive to build her confidence and make her see what he saw.

"You're remarkable, Hermione. Intelligent, beautiful, cultured," he pressed his lips against the shell of her ear, "and so, utterly responsive."

She shivered once more under his attentions, heart fluttering in her chest. "How do you do that?" she asked, breaking through the fog in her mind that told her to just melt into him and let him have his way with her.

"I've watched you for years, sweetheart, but it was only over the last six months that I realized that I could provide exactly what you needed," he told her, honestly.

"You keep saying that… what I need," she squirmed a bit under his heated gaze, pressing her thighs together.

"You take care of everyone else, Hermione. You need someone who can take care of you. In essence, someone who can give you what you need." Percy brushed a stray curl away from her eyes.

"What do you think I need?" she asked, her eyes flicking away for a moment before returning to his, seemingly remembering his request that she look at him.

"Affection, first and foremost," he feathered another kiss against her forehead. "You also need for your mind to be thoroughly engaged – someone you can debate with and be challenged by. Furthermore, you need to be able to relinquish yourself into the care of another – to trust that he will catch you when you fall and allow you to fall as often as you need." His hand brushed against her hip, remining her of their stolen moment in the kitchen. 

Hermione released a breath she didn't know she had been holding as she gazed into his eyes, finding nothing but adoration within their piercing depths, "…and will you?"

"For as long as you'll let me."

….

She was kneeling again, only this time he had commanded it of her and as usual, she had performed admirably.

Her tanned skin was wrapped in soft ropes of the finest linen and her unruly curls were tamed into a tight braid. Her hands were bound behind her back and her chest was heaving with needy, shallow breaths as her eyes were trained on the floor. He knew the knot sitting right at the apex of her thighs had been taunting her for the past several hours as she tidied up their cottage and tended to the children. He'd tried to warn her the night before, but she didn't listen. She'd had a difficult week at work and was out of control – snapping at him and the children, forgetting things left and right, and seemingly on the verge of tears at any moment. She needed this and while he'd tried to work her through it in other ways, he ultimately knew she would end up on her knees before him after the children were in their beds.

He loved her like this – all flushed and wanton with desire. As soon as he'd threaded the ropes around her before he left for work earlier in the day, he saw her calm. He knew it wouldn't last for long and that the strategic placement of the knots would soon drive her mad with desire. It would take her focus away from her week and place them on what she knew was coming.

He sat in the wingback chair across from where she was kneeling, a glass of ice water in his hand. He never liked to drink when they retired to the bedroom, wanting to ensure he had his full faculties about him, but he needed something to soothe his parched throat. Between the sight of his wife kneeling across the room and the July heat, the water was a godsend.

"Stand up and come here, pet," he said, watching as she immediately rose with the same feline grace he had seen all those years ago. Her steps faltered as she walked towards him and a breathy moan escaped her lips. He knew she was close – he'd kept her on edge all day, after all.

He pulled her into his arms and whispered the spell to release the ropes. Gingerly, Percy unwound them from her body and her sigh of relief was palpable as she melted into him. She nuzzled her nose against his neck as he stroked her back before offering her a drink of water, which she silently accepted.

"Better?" he asked, massaging her shoulders as he cradled her against his chest.

She nodded, relieved that the ropes had been released but knew that if her husband trailed his fingers to her thighs he would find her completely and utterly dripping from being overstimulated for the majority of the day.

"Tell me what you need," he said, his fingertips grazing along her curves. He didn't need to ask, he knew what her response would be, but he loved hearing her say it. 

"You," she replied without hesitation as she shifted on his lap so she was straddling his legs.

He smiled and gathered his wife in his arms, pressing his lips to hers before swiping his tongue along the seam. She granted him entry as she opened unto him, her hands slipping into his hair. It was her favorite game and she knew he would take her wrists in his hand before long and hold them behind her back, though she did her best to distract him by grinding against him. As predicted, she soon found her hands locked behind her back as his fingers probed at her folds, slipping through the soft curls at the apex of her thighs to sink into her heat.

A breathy moan escaped her lips as he teased his fingers through her folds, his thumb rubbing gentle circles around her clit. He chuckled darkly against her lips and slipped two fingers into her mouth. With a swipe of her tongue and a heady moan, she tasted herself on his fingers taking care to remove every last drop of her essence before he removed them and plunged his tongue into her mouth once more.

Releasing her hands, she made quick work of his trousers and the pair tumbled across the room to land on their bed, both now fully divested of their clothing. Pinning her beneath him, Percy sunk his teeth into the pulse point at her neck before laving his tongue against the reddened flesh. His wife couldn't help but squirm beneath him as she tried to quell the ache between her thighs.

He kissed down her body, taking each hardened nipple into his mouth in turn before covering his wife's body with his own and thrusting into her. She felt like heaven as her walls gripped him, pulsing and fluttering around him from her overstimulation. He knew she wouldn't last long and he thoroughly intended to ensure she felt every little sensation he knew he could bring her.

Her first orgasm washed over her with no more than a brush of his thumb over the tiny bundle of nerves. The second came after he pulled her on top of him and watched her gorgeous body as she took her own pleasure from him. By the third, she was complete putty in his hands, boneless, swollen, and exhausted. He kissed her tenderly as he sought his own release, pulling her supple body against his own and burying his face in her neck as his own orgasm crashed over him.

He couldn't imagine being anywhere else than where he was. After withdrawing from her and cleaning the pair of them up with a whispered spell, he cradled Hermione's body to his own. She sighed contentedly against his chest and draped a leg over his, as though she couldn't get close enough, even after eight years of marriage.

"Thank you," she murmured, sated exhaustion prevalent in her voice though he knew she was smiling from the way her cheek rested against his chest.

"For what, sweetheart?" he asked, stroking his fingertips along the curves of her waist as he held her close.

"For always knowing what I need."


End file.
